| = the title is wonderful, a very happy choice|
|Like the little clearing where you saw me with my little boy. This story of your soul is a very beautiful poem.|
| = "people never die here, do they?"|
|sublime beginning. now I can read, alone with my thoughts on your paper.|
"Rich people"...I felt that looking at a big picture where some happy politicians shared few laughes, in big houses...
There was not my vote to support that.
I saw last year's summer, one seagull atacking a luggage.
There was not inspiring, I was frightened.
"The borderline between dream and reality was there"
They can be seen, your visual paintings, it's very clear that you know how to play with the images, I like that.
"perfect misery", the living face of the coin... interesting.
sounds of the roumanian silence in your head, the voice of the silence...voice of your memory travelling back in time
his last book I read it was "Pendulul lui Foucault". nice.
I saw the movie made for "the name of the rose", but the boock impressed me more.
I'm close to the point where I could became vegetarian.
Let me end with a joke:
Mamma? friends are saying that I'm a vampire, why? Should I believe it? - No, of course, just shut up and eat your dinner, cause it gets... se coaguleaza. Sorry, I have no dictionary arround. (it curdles?)
| = where am I running?|
thousand of excuses.
| = funny face|
|your are in a crazy mood. I know what you mean. I am sensitive,yes; you know what? I submited a novel in the '80s to Cartea Romanesca, editor-in-chief,Balaita. |
They first approved it then they said to me that was a mistake, they had approved another person with the name of Malec; then they showed me a review of my book: the verdict was, hipersensitivity.I can't deny that. What I wasn't told was if this label disqualifies a piece of writing.
Thanks for reading it.
I really appreciate your time and attention.
| = hipersensitivity|
|yes...I'm too one of that kind...it seems to me that I won't write more, soon, or ever... Today was a special day for me, finished in my well-known way of crushing... something|
appears to capture me always just to make fun of me, just to snap me... I’m so cold now... maybe I'll write just in english, or french now... I'm very disappointed. I do not know why my tears are running, my throat is blocked...
It's nobody's fault, just mine...
I walked too fast...
Thank you for being here, with me, this evening... thank you. I feel like I want to kill my 'muse'... with empty hands...
| = spasmodic dance in the darkness of a perfect life|
|"I had the feeling of tobogganing into a fairyland" seems to be a leap into a world of perfection which attracts one visually by means of a set of precise cinematographic flashes that undergo a multitude facets undeniably powerful for such an introspective writer like you. You exquisitely made use of words that best express a voluptuos state of mind. The perfect life is perceived as:"And the buildings ? private banks and hotels ? glass and steel, sparkling in the dimming daylight" though "death" is in the air. However "perfect life, perfect misery" becomes condensed with the night fall. The therapy by music at the of the day is dominated by a highly detached, disillusioned view of the Modern World.|
| = welcome Corina|
|The author meets the critic.|
Nice to see you here, Corina. You are a keen observer of the mind behind the pen.
Thank you for your dedicated attention.
I will visit your poems soon.
I spend most of the time on the Romanian pages now,
that's why we didn't meet earlier.
Glad you meet you!